Interludes in the hospital wing
by Diokomen
Summary: Draco's 8th year was not easy nor was healing all his wounds.


Inspired by Riddlesgurlforever's prompt to DHRfaves January exchange. I own nothing.

Hermione sighed as she saw who was laying on the hospital bed. Draco Malfoy had consistently visited the wing at least once a week since the beginning of the term eight weeks ago. At first she mainly rolled her eyes and tried to leave her former rival to Madame Pomfrey. Pomfrey, while quite skilled at healing and actually teaching, was not known for her bedside manner and was much more interested in reading her romance novels and imbibing in her calming draught addiction. In fact after the first two weeks, the aging healer had all but given her free range to the wing. This gave Hermione the option and opportunity to tend to most of the patients, though Madame Pomfrey still took a few cases, especially the more advanced ones. However in this instance, Pomfrey, who hadn't had her sip of potion yet, noticed the girl's reluctance and promptly went on to lecture her. "Part of healing was separating out personal feelings from professional, especially at a school. You cannot leave someone in pain just because you have contempt for them. In fact, you have to rise above and be exemplary in those situations," Pomphrey paused and grimaced. "This is why questions are not asked. Find out the situation, but do not judge. In the end it won't matter why some little second year comes in half transformed into a cat. What matters is that she is and you have to fix it and they won't do it again." Feeling a bit like a scolded child, Hermione went on to heal Draco under the older witch's watchful eyes.

At first she didn't think anything of his injuries, this was a magical school where accidents were regular. She'd seen plenty of students come in due to a variety of issues including cauldron explosions, spells backfiring, and many, many quidditch accidents. His third visit during the third week of school was quite different and she began to question why his blond head was appearing so often. It was late Wednesday night and she had just finished labeling the last skele-gro potion that the NEWT levels classes had made when she heard a weak wheezing noise. Still constantly vigilant, Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready, only to find Draco collapsed with his hand peeking through the barely opened door. Hermione rushed to him and quickly took a diagnostic sweep. Both his eyes were blackened, six ribs were broken, one perilously close to puncturing his lung. He had a concussion as well as a myriad of bruises. These were obviously not school accidents and appeared purposeful, though he had no defensive wounds. Hermione dropped whatever history she had been holding onto to heal him that night, even staying by his bedside till early morning. He never admitted what had happened and refused to give any details. No one was ever caught. She began to keep an eye on him during the day from then on out. Most Slytherins ignored him, though some bridges she could tell were not burned. They kept distance in public, but ranged from cordial to friendly when they thought they couldn't be seen. The other houses were another matter. Hufflepuffs whispered acidic words under their breath as he walked down corridors. Gryffindors would throw hexes and jinxes. Hermione intervened as often as she could, but she couldn't be around all the time. She had butted heads with her own house on this more times than she could count. Eventually it culminated into her getting into a screaming match with 7th year Demelza Robins. Robins called her a "traitorous death eater's whore who was unworthy of Gryffindor." Hermione, incensed by the words, announced to the entire common room "I do not have to prove myself to anyone. You all should be ashamed of yourselves. This is not what we fought, and died, for. WE fought for equality and instead you are keeping those same sodding prejudices alive. Prepping for repercussions that will haunt another generation and cause divides to strengthen until our children's children have to fight the same war we just went through." She threw a glare toward Robins, "Also if you who decided not to fight are still feeling frisky. Come find me. You know where I'll be. You know my war record. I'm always willing to fight for what I see as right." She turned on her heel as Ginny and Neville both began to speak up in agreement.

Pulling out of her reverie, she continued to heal Draco, smoothing his skin with bruise paste. "Draco," she murmured "please tell me." She didn't have to specify what she was asking. She asked the same question every time he visited the wing. Every time he had some excuse, each more pathetic than the last. "Quidditch," he rasped. "Don't lie to me. It was quidditch two times ago and three times before that. Who did this to you" she begged. His labored breathing stopped and Hermione quickly glanced at his face. He was holding his breath, weighing each word on his tongue. "You know I won't tell you. Please stop asking." His 'please' was like ice to her soul. "Fine" she responded just as icily as she felt, "will you tell me why you don't fight back?" She knew he was an excellent dueler. He had to be with his aunt and the death eaters. There was no way someone could get the drop on him this many times. "Because I deserve it," he said so softly she thought she imagined it until he continued. "I injured, maimed and killed people. Students, Hermione, first years who had done nothing other than annoy the Carrows. I am so stained. I refuse to raise my wand or my hand against another living thing ever again." He closed his eyes and she assumed that the pain potion had started working. Looking around and seeing no one was around, at least consciously, she let her tears fall. Hermione sat on his bed, slipped her hand into his. "Then I will fight in your stead," she thought as she cried and absentmindedly pushed his hair out of his face.


End file.
